The funeral of Arabella was over; and her grave was made, amongst the mighty of the land, in the Abbey of Westminster. Two months had passed; and Ida Mara, in deep mourning, sat in the hall of Sir Harry West's house, occupied in the usual task of embroidery. The good Knight had left her about half an hour before.--Mr. Crompton, who, as the reader may remember, had aided in the escape from Highgate, and was a frequent visitor at the house, having desired to speak with him alone.

Ida was still busily engaged upon her task, with her mind occupied with sad and serious thoughts--though the deep grief which she felt for the loss of her, to whom she had been so sincerely attached, had naturally subsided, in some degree, under the balmy power of time--when Sir Harry returned, with a grave and somewhat agitated air.

"Put down your needle, my dear Ida," said the old Knight, "and listen to me. I have something to tell you of importance."

"What is the matter, dear Sir Harry?" she exclaimed, gazing at him eagerly. "You are moved. Something has grieved you."

"No, indeed, Ida," replied Sir Harry West, "it is not exactly grief, though, perhaps, I am going to lose you; but if it is for your happiness, my dear child, I shall be content."

"To lose me?" cried Ida Mara, turning deadly pale. "Are you going to send me away from you?"

"No, not to send you," replied Sir Harry; "but, perhaps, you may think fit to go, when you hear what I have to say. You know Mr. Crompton; he is a gentleman of good family, of honour, and high principles--kind and generous in heart, and, though not very wealthy, has sufficient for happiness. Often having seen you with the Lady Arabella, and deeply touched with those high qualities which you have displayed towards her, and, indeed, towards every one, he asks your hand."

"Oh, no, no, no!" cried Ida Mara, with all her Italian eagerness; "tell him, I beseech you, Sir Harry, I am unworthy of the honour he intends me. Explain to him that I spring from another class. Tell my origin--tell him how you first found me, a poor Italian girl, homeless, friendless, destitute."

"I have told him all," replied Sir Harry West. "I judged it right to do so; and he thinks as I do, Ida, that such virtues, graces, and goodness, as you possess, form a better inheritance than stored-up gold, or even a noble name. The only question is, Ida, do you--can you love him?"

Ida paused; and Sir Harry felt her hand, which he had taken, tremble violently.

"No," she said, at length; "no, I cannot."

"But why," asked the old Knight. "He is handsome in person, gentle and kind in demeanour."

She shook her head sorrowfully. "I cannot love him," she answered. "You will think me wrong, I fear, Sir Harry, to wish rather to remain dependent on your bounty, than change it for any other fate on earth."

"I do not think you wrong, my dear child," replied Sir Harry; "all I have is yours; for to you I owe whatever remains to me of life. But you must give me a decided answer; for I must deal plainly with this gentleman."

"My answer is plain, my benefactor," replied Ida. "I cannot love him--I cannot wed him."

"Good faith, then, dear Ida," said the old Knight, with a smile, "if you will not wed any one else, I shall be fain to marry you myself."

"What is that you said!" exclaimed Ida, with the light coming into her eyes. "What is that you said?"

"I was but jesting, Ida," answered the Knight; and immediately the blood rushed up into her cheek, and spread rosy over her forehead. "I was but jesting," repeated Sir Harry West; but Ida was very much agitated, and thinking he had pained her, he added, "I am well aware, my dear child, that however great may be the comfort and happiness to me, to have you with me during my latter years--however deeply and tenderly I may love you, I must not, and ought not, to desire that you should sacrifice all for me."

"I would sacrifice all, everything for you," cried Ida Mara, eagerly. "I never, never wish to quit you."

"Hear me, Ida, hear me," said Sir Harry West; "your sense of duty and gratitude I know is unbounded, but the time may come when you will find some one to love----"

"No," answered Ida; "no, I shall never love any one but you. If you send me from you, I shall die;" and sinking down into a chair, with a pale cheek and a quivering lip, she covered her eyes with her hand.

"What is the matter, dear Ida?" said the Knight, tenderly. "You seem ill; what is it that you feel?"

"I do not know--I do not know," she answered. "Oh, leave me, Sir Harry, and tell this gentleman that I grieve I cannot return his affection."

"He is gone, Ida," answered the Knight; "but I have promised to write to him. If I merely say that you cannot return his affection, he will ask to be permitted to pursue his suit."

"Oh no, no!" cried Ida, clasping her hands, "he must not,--I cannot,--tell him--tell him----"

"Tell him what?" asked Sir Harry West, not a little agitated himself. "Shall I tell him that you love another?" he added, in a low and serious voice.

The crimson again rushed into her face, and she paused for a moment, casting down her eyes. Then, raising them suddenly, she exclaimed, in Italian, with all the wild vehemence which, derived from her nation and the climate of her birth, had characterized her demeanour, before she had passed through so many scenes of sad and wearing anxiety.

"Yes, yes!--Tell him I love another!"

"Indeed?" cried Sir Harry West, with a cheek somewhat pale:--for, strange to say, he could more readily have borne to hear her say that she was ready to give her hand with indifference, than to listen to an acknowledgment that she loved. "Ida must tell me whom it is she loves; and I promise her, that nothing on earth shall be wanting on my part to promote her happiness. Tell me, Ida, tell me," he continued, seeing that she stood silent; "tell me, I adjure you. If you have any consideration, regard, affection for me, keep me not in suspense, but tell me who is this. Nay, Ida, I beseech, I entreat."

Ida gazed at him for a moment, with her trembling lips apart, then cast herself into his arms, and with streaming eyes hid her glowing face upon his shoulder.

"Who?" said the Knight.

She answered in a whisper. It was only one word; but Sir Harry West's eyes brightened.

"Indeed, indeed, my Ida!" he cried, still holding her to his heart; "and you willingly sacrifice all the bright and sunny part of life, to be an old man's darling?"

"I would rather," answered the girl, looking up, "I would rather be an old man's darling, than a young man's neglected wife. All I ask is, to remain with you for ever; never to quit you; to see you always, hear you always, and to give up my life to him who first protected me, first was kind to me, whom I have ever loved, and ever shall love, better than any one on earth. Call me what you will--your child, your servant, anything!--But send me not from you."

"No, no, Ida," answered Sir Harry West, with a smile lighting up his fine, though somewhat worn countenance; "you have chosen your part; you have made up your mind. If you stay at all, it is as my wife."

"Oh, with what joy!" she cried. "But I forget.--Am I fit to be your wife? What will your relations, your high friends, say, at your marrying the poor Italian girl?"

"Let them say what they will," replied Sir Harry. "There will be gibes and scoffs enow at the old man marrying a girl young enough to be his daughter--ay, his granddaughter. They will say he is in his dotage, Ida, and predict all sorts of evil results."

"They will speak false," she cried, vehemently: "and if they did but know all that I owe to you----"

"And all I owe to you, Ida," rejoined the knight, "they might comprehend the feelings that actuate us both. I look to you, dear one, whatever be their prophecies, to give them the lie."

"I will do it," replied Ida Mara; and she kept her word, leaving on record, that, for once, the marriage of a man of more than sixty with a girl of two-and-twenty produced happiness to both.

FOOTNOTES

Footnote 1: A similar mantelpiece is still to be seen in the house of J. Wood, Esq., of Sandwich, in which Queen Elizabeth resided during her visit to that ancient town.

Footnote 2: She made use of very nearly the same expressions herself to Cardinal Bentivoglio.

Footnote 3: I need only cite the instance of Lady Rich, who was one of the public and favourite companions of Anne of Denmark, while undergoing the ordeal of the ecclesiastical courts on the charge of notorious adultery, fully established against her.

Footnote 4: The perfumer of the Count de Taxis is mentioned by Arabella Stuart herself, in one of her letters to her uncle, the Earl of Shrewsbury.

Footnote 5: Such acts were not at all uncommon in the reign of James I.

Footnote 6: It is proved incontrovertibly by Mr. Lodge, from papers amongst the Harleian manuscripts, that such a permission had been obtained from the King, and that upon it the Lady Arabella acted.

Footnote 7: The Countess was deceived in her expectations; for the Judges confirmed the dictum, that a refusal to answer questions proposed by the Privy Council in affairs of state is a contempt of the King's prerogative. The best authority upon the law of evidence that we possess, Mr. S. M. Phillips, does not even except cases in which the person by his answer might criminate himself; although it is remarked, in his notes upon the State Trials, that in such a case the council would, probably, in the present day, allow the general principle of the law to maintain, that no person is compellable to criminate himself, or supply any information which would have that tendency. I need hardly tell the reader that the accounts of this celebrated scene vary in many particulars; but all agree that the Countess refused to answer in private, appealing to a public court.

Footnote 8: Let it be remembered that this act of intolerable tyranny was actually committede and this, with the rest of James's conduct towards Overbury, led men reasonably to suspect that the prisoner was in possession of some horrible secret affecting the King himself.]

Footnote 9: It was discovered afterwards that his salt was mingled daily with white precipitate.

THE END.

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